


Weather the Whether

by melo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-04
Updated: 2011-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-17 14:31:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/177857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melo/pseuds/melo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean isn't expecting any visitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weather the Whether

**Author's Note:**

> Blanket spoilers up to 6x12, just in case.

It's the fourth day of almost non-stop rain and overcast sky.

The house is gloomy and dark, the patter of rain on roof and window pane matching the bored tap of Dean's fingers on the table top. Sam went to visit his kids today and Dean was invited to tag along, but he hadn't felt up to it.

He's always tired these days.

So Dean sits by the kitchen window where he's been since morning. The television isn't switched on and neither is the radio, but Dean is content with listening to the tick of the analog clock on the wall. Sam tells him to get a digital clock every time he comes over, just like how he used to tell Dean to replace his tape collection. Dean doesn't though, because he likes the way it marks each second with an audible click.

It lets Dean know time is passing.

And it's strangely comforting how the tick of the clock, the tap of his fingers and the patter of rain seem to keep time together.

Then the doorbell rings.

Dean isn't anticipating any visitors, but he lifts himself stiffly from his chair and makes his slow way down the hall.

When Dean opens the door, it's to the last person he expects to see.

"Dean," Castiel says, voice as rough as ever.

Dean doesn't reply because he doesn't know what to say; doesn't know what to do with Castiel on his doorstep.

He stopped imagining this day years ago.

"Dean," Castiel repeats, eyes the same blue that still haunt Dean's dreams, but when Dean remains silent, the arm Castiel stretched out towards him drops. His voice becomes hesitant, fearful, "It's...Castiel – I'm Castiel...I'm–"

Dean steps outside his house, a shaking hand coming up to rest over Castiel's heart as he croaks, "An angel of the Lord."

The fear melts from Castiel's face though the earnest crease in his brow doesn't fade.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel murmurs, hand coming up to close over Dean's; keeping Dean from slipping away.

Dean shakes his head because there's a lot to apologize for and yet nothing at all. He's older now and once, he might have lashed out with anger, thrown a punch to the angel's face and damned the consequences of a broken hand, but not anymore.

Now, all he can think of is the last time he saw Castiel.

It was sunny.

They were on some back road in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere.

He'd snapped at Castiel, asked why Heaven couldn't fix itself; asked if this was the end for them.

Castiel had only tilted his head; left Dean wondering whether that was yes or no.

Then they'd separated in the least memorable way imaginable – with grim nods and a touch of finger tips to finger tips.

So Dean isn't sure why his eyes are wet now.

There's a lot to apologize for and yet nothing at all, but he speaks anyways, voice strained, "I didn't wait for you."

Castiel lifts a hand to Dean's wrinkled face, fingers splaying over the silver hair at Dean's temple and thumb brushing away the moisture on his liver spotted cheek.

Castiel smiles the way he did when they first met; when they last parted, "But you did."


End file.
